Working Up to It

Let it build, man. Feel it.

Micah was taking heavy strides across the street to follow Dino, who finally arrived with his usual entourage of flunkies in tow, into the club. The bouncer had spotted him and already looked nervous. Either he read the expression or it was the trench coat.

He’s got this coming. They all do.

With what he had to do, Micah knew he had to talk himself up. His blood needed to be absolutely boiling before he even hit the door.

That’s it. Picture him with her. Yeah, that’s it. You’re the friggin bear at the picnic site, ready to pick off helpless scouts.

“If anyone asks, I tried to stop ya’,” the bouncer announced nervously while stepping aside.

Don’t laugh. Sneer. It’s not funny. Stay angry, dammit.

Three steps into the club, into the seedy space lit with neon red and a weak strobe in the corner, some idiot yelled out, “Well, if it ain’t the lonesome loser come crawlin back. Come for the bachelor party or to give the groom some tips?”

That’ll do. It’s go time.

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